This story is about me. Only me. It’s about my ego and insecurities and fears and needs.
I typically write what I think might be useful for others to know and understand, but this is different. It’s more like a diary entry. A confessional. A cry of frustration.
It’s the sort of thing I would address to a wife or partner or trusted companion — if I had a woman in that role. It’s my half of a conversation which I would need to have with someone who loved me and believed in me and was permanently a part of my life.
So this probably isn’t for you.
I’m struggling right now. In many ways, things are the best in my life that they’ve been for at least 20 years. I have stability and purpose again. I know where I want to go. I’m more clear about my values and my priorities than I’ve ever been in my life.
But I’m struggling with the gap between how things ought to be and the reality I see in front of me. And that gap terrifies me — because nobody lives forever.

For an American church, the Fourth of July should be just another day
Tired of Obama? Electing Romney or another Republican won’t help
Flawed bricks can build our lives, because perfection never arrives
Shame of not being perfect comes with every new thing I try to do
Well-meaning parents stifle kids by trying to make their decisions
Why let your enemy control you by choosing to listen to his hate?
How can a child process seeing his mother trying to stab father?
Thugs attacking private property aren’t anarchists; they’re vandals